Maternal Instinct
by Lily of the Shadow
Summary: Pt 4: To make amends for weeks of inaction, she offers him a ride in the rain... Pt 5: In Gym class, she finally snaps... Pt 6: He finally confronts her.
1. Biology

Once again, I return with an OC-P.O.V. story, this time about one of the school's popular girls, sitting in Biology class, thinking about the young boy beside her.

* * *

Twelve years old. He is only twelve years old. I look at him, sitting next to me, studiously poking at our frog, a tiny frown on his face. My heart goes out to him, a mouse among cats.

Earlier today, I saw him get shoved into a locker by Bonz, one of the school thugs. Nobody, of course, in the entire, crowded hallway saw what happened. Bonz had a way of being _invisible_ like that.

No, Spencer Reid had nobody to stick up for him. I don't, I'm ashamed to say. I like my popularity. It took years of hard work to get where I am, I'm not about to throw it away for a scrawny runt like Spencer. I'm not going to throw it all away because I have a conscience.

In my mind, sometimes, I call him Spence. He doesn't have any friends to give him the nickname, so I do. I've never talked to him outside of class, and even in class anything we say is of a strictly educational nature. Often times, though, I have to force down down a sort of maternal instinct to coddle the boy.

The frog's leg gives another twitch. Spencer's scalpel carefully eases the skin and muscle back from the guts, or something like that. Frankly, I didn't read the chapter... I wince and step back. He looks up at me.

"You aren't nauseous, are you?" He asks softly. I almost break. He's got the softest little voice you can imagine. I wish I could hug him, tell him I'd protect him, let him know that he has people on his side.

"I'm fine." I snap, holding my hand over my mouth and I gingerly poke the frog.

"Careful, we can't puncture it's lungs." He says. He freezes, a look of abject horror on his face, as if suddenly realizing he 'talked back'. He corrected his first lab partner once, and got punched in the face immediately. The teacher immediately made him switch partners, but didn't even file a disciplinary form. Instead of punching him, like he apparently expected, I back off. He relaxes a tiny bit.

"Whatever, Spence." I say, shrugging nonchalantly. He looks back up at me. My eyes widened fractionally in horror at my utterance of the nickname.

I glance around the room. When nobody looks at me, accusing me of fraternizing with the 'runt', I breathe my own sigh of relief. I offer him a tiny smile. He responds with an upward twitch of the lips before returning to our frog.

Has the poor child forgotten how to smile? I, once again, push down the urge to embrace the kid…


	2. Pep Rally

Hi again! Wow, five reviews? I about fell over. I think I'm going to have a hard time getting through door now, my ego is so inflated. Your reviews, coupled with our relative success in my personal first Knowledge Bowl match today (we lost, but it was by a 110 point margin instead of 225 like last time…) have made me positively giddy, and as my friends know, I write some of my best stuff when I'm giddy. So here's a bit more. This one is a bit longer, I got carried away with myself…

onlyonceinforever- I'm going to hold you to that, got it? And for the record: yes; Spencer was, in fact, wearing a little lab coat. Standard safety procedure, you understand… An adorable little chibi-Spencer lab coat! _–chibi grin-_

A girl muses on the high school's youngest student at the pep rally.

* * *

The Cougars were undefeated last year. This year, they are undefeated so far. The entire school is fired up for the homecoming game. Everybody, excepting one, was cheering at the pep rally. 

In the corner of the stand at the far end of the gym, my lab partner sits, nose buried in some book. He glances up occasionally to take in the blue and gold clad student body before returning to his thick book. A closer look confirms my initial thought, he's re-reading his AP psychology textbook. I roll my eyes before focusing back on the task at hand.

The familiar chant rolls off my tongue as I grin widely, waving a pair of pom-poms about enthusiastically. As head of the Varsity Cheer squad, I'm the one who everybody is watching. Everybody, of course, except Spence.

I steal another glance at him. There's at least a three person space in front and to his side, as if everybody around him were afraid to catch something. I look up at the writhing mass of bodies in front of me. I move back to spot Stacy as she climbs to the top of the pyramid.

Before I really recognize it, our routine is finished. The crowd erupts in cheers and I wonder how Spencer can possibly read in this noise. The kid is going to give himself a headache! I briefly wonder if I should slip him some aspirin after the rally, but common sense told me that he would probably be paranoid and think I was giving him some hard drugs.

It's time for the best part of the pep rally; the seniors draw names and we get to watch four students make fools of themselves for a minor prize, usually a teacher-donated pot of around 50 bucks or a CD player or something like that. I listen absently, cheering as the foreign exchange student is called down. The exchange student always is picked to play, of course. Next, a bubbly sophomore is called, she bounces down the bleachers excitedly. One of the school's more gothic-looking students is called, and he rolls his eyes before descending the bleachers as if he's doing us some huge favor by gracing us with his presence.

Then, there's a deafening quiet. And whispers. Then some shouting. I glance up to see Spencer turning red as the guys around him slap him on the back in a mocking show of companionship and support. He slowly comes down, knowing it's useless to protest, anyone who refuses to come down usually gets some sort of punishment, such as being doused in Gatorade or something similar.

I feel my chest clench as I watch him come down. His head is hung almost ashamedly. He joins the students at the front. The rest of the school has collapsed back into its usual cacophonic din. Mike has to nearly scream into the microphone to be heard over the crowd, but everyone knew the game anyway. You had to dig around in a whip-cream filled pie plate to find the bubblegum and then you had to blow a bubble.

Spencer looked down at his pie tin dubiously as his hands were tied behind his back with a pink handkerchief. Samantha, one of my friends, waves a black and white checkered flag and three of the four 'contestants' dive into their plates, searching for the gum. Spencer leans over carefully and stares at the whipped cream for a moment before digging in like the rest of the students.

The gothic boy straightens up, the gum obviously in his mouth. He chews quickly and blows a bubble, pumping his arms in the air. Spencer apparently doesn't realize he's beaten and continues to search for the gum. Laughter rings out through the gymnasium and he finally lifts his head to find more than half of the student body laughing and pointing. Someone throws a small hand towel at him and he wipes off his face slowly.

The thought runs through my head that I have no idea how he can stay so composed. The jeering dies down a bit as the gothic boy is awarded the miniature plastic trophy with a couple of fives rolled up and tucked in it. He holds it up, smirking, and makes his way back to his friends. The bubbly sophomore hugs him, Hiroke, and then dashes back towards her friends. The quarterback gives Hiroke a hearty slap on the back before Hiroke goes back to sitting with the soccer team. Only Spence remains, somewhat forgotten. He runs towards the double doors, unnoticed except by the teacher he nearly knocks down and myself.

I fight the urge to go after him, to comfort him and hold him close until his tears run out, but I stay, grinning like a maniac at the crowd.

Almost a half an hour later, the band begins playing again, a final, rousing chorus of the infamous Queen song 'We Will Rock You'. They repeat the chorus several times before the busses arrive to take those who are going home away. The teachers break the pep rally up and everyone goes their separate ways, talking, cheering and laughing.

"What an idiot! You have to wonder if he really is that smart." I hear, many times over, from students all around me. My heart pounds in my throat, where a lump is forming. My eyes burn with pity for the boy.

I walk along a back hallway, looking for Mrs. Fisher to hand in my essay, forcing my own tears back. I hear a sniffle from next to the water fountain. From behind it, I see a pair of black, high-end loafers, connected to legs that are covered in neat black slacks. I know that if I were to move forward and see the torso of the body, it would be wearing a dark-blue and green striped polo and be topped with a light-brunette head.

Instead, I stopped; I turned and walked softly away, my own tears finally coming to the surface.


	3. Hallway

Somehow, this one doesn't seem like it's the same style as the first two parts, but oh well. I hope you enjoy this one! And review! Oh, yes, review. All reviews will be auctioned on E-Bay to raise money to buy a lab coat for Spencer! … And to pay for his obviously high medical bills…

* * *

I watch, once more, as they punish him for being intelligent. It's the same group; some thugs, some of the boys that I cheer on at every game, some of the ordinary laymen who just go to school to say that they did. They unite for the sole purpose of beating up my Spence. I want to stop them, but I can't.

An idea strikes. Almost half of the attackers are on the football team!

I run toward them.

"Dylan!" I latch on to the linebacker's arm. "Dylan, I think Mrs. Dalton is coming! You could get in trouble!" I pleaded.

"Get off me," Dylan growls, shaking his arm free, but he stops kicking Spencer nonetheless. Taking a cue, the two others holding him up drop Spencer to the ground, where he curls up in a ball, obviously suppressing whimpers.

"Please, Dylan! You can't get suspended from this game, the team needs you!" I plead, once again taking his arm. He half shrugs, giving one last kick to Spence's ribs. Spencer hisses in pain, but doesn't move otherwise.

"Later, kid." He spits at Spencer. I wince, but he doesn't see. The other two football players follow us. Gradually, each of the others get in one last kick or two themselves before dispersing. I kept in step just behind Dylan and the other guys and keep glancing back. Biology is after lunch…

All I can do is wait.

The remainder of lunch drags by, and I explain away my lack of appetite by telling Stephanie and Megan that I'm on another diet. They accept that explanation fairly well, and the bell rings at last.

Terror grips me. I'm changing... A month ago I wouldn't have looked twice at the boy, much less thought about him.

I step into the Biology room apprehensively. My chest clenches when Spencer is not already in his seat, like normal. Did they send him home? Was he even found? What if he is still curled up in that hallway? Nobody goes there normally!

Trembling, I sit down at our lab bench and begin reading the board. I can't ask about him, that would be caring…

The door opens once more, just before the bell. Spencer's limp wouldn't be noticeable to anyone not looking. He heaves himself up onto the stool beside me. He opens his notebook and begins to copy down the instructions on the board promptly. I do the same, watching him out of the corner of my eye.

He's favoring his left side. I know that, just under the long sleeves of his polo shirt, the deep bruising where he had been held would appear soon. He kept his head down, but I could already see the light bruise under his jaw from what had to be a comparatively gentle punch.

For the second time I could remember, my eyes burned, desperately wanting to cry for the boy. I wanted to wrap him in my arms and not let go until I knew he was safe from everything. I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared back down at my paper.

A tiny sheet from a memo book sat on my binder, folded in perfect quarters. I looked around for the sender. Nobody looked suspicious, though, so I opened it up. The paper was silent under the mask of the teacher's now verbal instructions.

In a tiny, neat handwriting that I didn't immediately recognize, two words stood out in blue ink. I looked to my left, where Spencer was still concentrating on taking notes.

I looked back at the note and blinked back the almost familiar burning in my eyes.

'Thank you'.


	4. Car

FF.N's new complete/not complete system is spiffy! Did anyone else notice that stories that have the word 'one-shot' or 'oneshot' or 'completed' in the summary are automatically labeled 'Completed'? I went through changing almost half of mine over before I realized it, lol!

This starts out with a bit of Spencer torture, then I decided to go ahead and develop the plot a bit and have some actual character interaction, complete with dialogue! I couldn't help myself at the end. I just… had to. You'll see.

(I forgot this last time..)

A girl drives home in the rain.

* * *

I peer out the windshield, almost squinting into the darkness. It's wintertime, and so of course it's dark early. Cheerleading practice was held inside tonight, so it ran a bit late despite the thunderstorm. I'm driving incredibly slowly, letting a small part of my mind wander to the school day. 

It has been raining all day. This morning, while sitting under the overhang over the west door with some of my friends, I witnessed another of Dylan and the other football players 'playtime' sessions with Spence. The poor kid was walking to school, sufficiently covered with a simple, black umbrella held perfectly parallel to his body, when the football players and two thugs decided to take it and beat him with it. Spence probably has some lovely, long bruises across his back and stomach.

I didn't stop them this time, I had no excuse.

I didn't see Spence until Biology. He gave me sort of a heartbroken look, and I couldn't even look in his direction all class period, preferring instead to take unusually meticulous notes, complete with almost perfectly reproduces diagrams of the cells up on the board. I was holding back tears.

A car honks behind me and I speed up a bit, to twenty five. It's still not fast enough, apparently, as I am promptly passed by a sporty red car. I half shrug and stare back out the windshield. Along the Vegas Valley Dr, it's fairly quiet, considering. As I virtually inch along, I notice something up ahead. Reflectors.

Who in their sane mind would be jogging in this weather? Then I realize the person isn't jogging. I slowly pull up beside them. It's a kid! Hardly older then… I gasp, slamming on the brakes. I press the power windows as the figure looks curiously to the side. The headlights illuminate a very dark bruise on his jaw, but the polo and slacks and overstuffed backpack is utterly unmistakable.

"SPENCER REID!" I cry. There is no way I can let him walk in this weather. A ride is the absolute least I can do."Get your skinny butt in this car this instant!" Startled, he squints through the rain, probably expecting to see his mother. His face registers shock and surprise. Slowly, as if the car itself were a large monster, he approaches and peeks in the window.

"I'm sorry, I don't want your car's interior to get ruined. I can walk, it's only six miles!"

I gave him an incredulous look. "Like Hell," I demand. "Get in." Hesitantly, he opens the door. He swings off his backpack and sets it at his feet, promptly buckling himself in. I shot a sideways glance at him as I resumed scooting along the road, this time pushing forty. "Where do you live?" I asked.

"Isle Royale Drive, in the subdivision east of Stallion Mountain Gold Club."

I knew the area, my father golfed there often. It was only abut ten miles out of my way (my own home being a mere two and a half miles away, in a subdivision off of Vegas Valley Drive), but I was resolved to take him home nonetheless.

"Alright." I said, nodding. Utter, depressing silence reigns for a few moments before I take a deep breath and speak again.

"How come you were walking?"

"I missed the bus." Spence replies simply.

"Why did you miss the bus?"

"I lost track of time."

I hesitate. "Why didn't you call home?"

"I did." He said.

"And your mother didn't come pick you up?"

"I told her that I was staying after to study and that I had a ride."

"Why?"

"So she wouldn't worry about me."

The plain and simple logic astounds me. He is being rational, not macho, and I am torn between amusement and horror as his predicament.

"How long have you been walking?" I ask, fearing the answer.

"An hour."

Poking along at about two miles an hour in a thunderstorm, does this kid have a death wish? Jokingly, I ask him so. He looks at me cryptically, and I pause. He doesn't, does he? The tension thickens considerably. I reach forward and poke at the radio's on button, turning the volume quickly to a non-startling volume.

I grin as I realize that I had caught 'One Week' by Bare Naked Ladies near the beginning.

"Do you know this song?" I ask over the music. Slowly, he nods. "Do you know the lyrics?" I ask. He shakes his head. I laugh and start singing along, stumbling over more than a few words, slightly more comfortable. I look over and notice that he has his brows furrowed, staring hard at the radio dial, his dripping hair still hanging in his face. For a full three minutes, during which I don't really realize that I've sped up a bit to the legal 55, I sing and hum along to the upbeat song. When it ends, I glance over to him. He has an adorably confused face on.

"What's the matter?" I ask.

"Well… I'm not sure I understand… The song." He admits. "One moment he is talking about how he knows the definite cycle through which he and his significant other argue and reconcile their differences, then he starts to go on about Aquaman, sushi, Leann Rimes, then something later about signing a waver about what I can only assume is an amusement park ride, and that's only the first verse!" He rattles on. I can't help it. I slow the car way down as I begin laughing. "What's wrong?" He asks me.

"Nothing…" I caught through my giggles, pulling over to collect myself. "It's just that… It's not necessarily supposed to make sense. It's fun, that's all that matters!"

"But… It has no point!" He argues.

"Don't you ever do anything fun?"

"I read." He almost pouts, nearly sending me into fits of… well, motherly cooing, I guess.

"No, I mean… something that has no point. Something that you will never, ever, ever in a million years use in real life."

"I… can do some sleight of hand tricks."

"Magic?" I ask, grinning.

"If that's what you want to call it." He replies. I nod.

"That's good, then. Keep practicing, maybe you'll become exceptional at something so utterly pointless." I laugh and resume driving. It's only about another half mile. He give me his exact address and I pull into the drive moments later. The modest (for a two-story mini-mansion in a rich neighborhood) house looms in front of me, somehow a pristine white even in the rain.

Spence sighs. The pounding rain, I know, will give him an excuse for being soaked to the bone from his earlier walk, but he seems reluctant to leave.

"Thanks." He says softly before opening the door and slipping out. I watch as he jumps up the steps, slipping and slamming his palm into the concrete halfway up the steps. I wince and resist the urge to rush out to help him, consoling myself that the worst he'd get would be a scraped knee and palm. He stands up and continues, opening the screen door, then the storm door. He turns and waves before shutting both. I back out and begin the drive home.


	5. Pool

I'm back! At long last, summer is here and I have brought you a new chapter of Maternal Instinct. No excuses, I just couldn't write. Enjoy!

A girl finally snaps.

* * *

The chlorine is already getting to me, making me feel lightheaded and slightly ill as I sat on the edge of the pool in the shallow end. Gym class is taking place at the community college's pool this week' we're taking off three hours to come down here every day for a week of swimming safety. More than anything, it's a lot of fun, hanging out and swimming, because our instructor is really lax.

"People who can't swim, stay in the shallow end. People who can are allowed to go all over. Watch out for each other, use the buddy system, that sort of thing. If I see anyone breaking the rules, you're out for the rest of the week," the instructor had said, right before he climbed up on his tall lifeguard chair and discreetly put a magazine in his lap.

I wasn't impressed.

Neither, apparently, was Spence. He sat on the edge of the pool near the deep end, where it was quieter, with his feet dangling in the water. Next to him was his 'buddy', a slightly overweight girl who was really quite sweet. They were talking quietly, apparently neither were very good swimmers.

I watched them almost sadly. Jennifer, the girl, had almost gotten Spence to smile. He was looking a bit happier than he usually did. His towel was hugged close to his skinny shoulders, and the standard issue swim trunks were a little big on him, despite being one of the smaller kid sizes the school had.

My gaze was drawn to Duke, one of the basketball players, as he and his friends walked behind the pair. Suddenly, he stumbled, accidentally—or not—knocking into Spencer, sending him out into the water with a yelp. The guys laughed as Spencer floundered in the water that was way over his head.

Without thinking, I dove in, slicing through the water like a torpedo, surfacing near the flailing boy. I didn't think about how you weren't supposed to do it, but I grabbed him and dragged him the three or so feet to the edge of the pool. He latched onto the edge of the pool, gasping for breath. Jennifer grabbed his arm and easily hoisted him out of the water, draping him with her own towel, since his now floated towards the bottom of the pool.

Mostly to avoid explaining at that second, I dove straight down for it. I came up, whipping it at the ground, somehow catching Duke's foot and causing him to cry out in surprise. The lifeguard was now down and checking Spencer out, making sure he was alright. I watched as if from inside a bubble. Duke held a hand out to help me out of the pool, but I blew it off, pulling myself up.

"You—" I hissed, poking him in the chest. "That was despicable! Pushing a _child_ into the deep end of the pool, where it's obviously over his head, and when you _know_ he can't swim!" Everyone was staring now. "I'm tired of it! You and everyone else, constantly picking on him because he was smarter at four than you'll ever be in your entire lifetime! You make me _sick_," I spat, shoving Duke as hard as I could backwards into the pool. He went under, and then surfaced, almost forgetting to tread water in his shock.

"But I—"

"I don't want to hear it," I said before turning to Jennifer, who was watching uneasily. "Jennifer, right? Where did they take Spencer?"

"This way," she said, leading me through the stunned-silent crowd of students towards the pool office.


	6. Confrontation

♥ Not much to say. Thanks for not hating me for taking so long! I can't believe this… I put myself in a situation where I actually have to reveal her name… So I spent almost an hour looking for a good name… Then I realized: this girl precisely fits one of my Hogwarts Role-play characters, with the exception of her driving skills, so why not use her? And so I did.

Enjoy!

A girl is confronted.

* * *

I didn't go to school Thursday, or Friday. I told mom I needed a few mental health days. She's one of those new-age mothers who try to do the whole feng shui and yoga with vanilla yogurt and fruit thing, so she agreed and, after going into school to collect all my work for me to do over the weekend, made an appointment for me at a spa downtown.

It was an okay two days, but it the relaxation was ruined by my dread at the coming Monday. There was no doubt in my mind as to the extent the stories would spread; I was head cheerleader, for Pete's sake! I was more worried about what would happen to Spencer. I hoped that he was taking the days off, too, possibly claiming sick or something, because something was bound to happen to him.

Friday afternoon found me sitting in the easy chair in the living room, gazing absently at the television, watching something about forensics and the FBI. Mom answered a knock at the door. There were voices, but I didn't pay too much attention, lost in my own thoughts.

"Honey, there's someone here for you," she said, poking her head into the living room. I looked up, surprised. I had hoped to avoid everyone until Monday, but chances are my cheerleading team had tracked me down already, desperate to know what the gossip was all about (only one of the girls was in my gym class, and she had been absent Wednesday, so none of them knew the true story). I sit up and mute the television.

"Let them in," I said with a sigh, composing myself. After a moment, instead of the gaggle of cheerleaders I expected, a shy little boy shuffles into the living room. My eyes widen and I sit up a bit straighter. He's followed by a taller, heavier girl who looks nervous as well.

"Spencer?" I ask in shock. My eyes fly to the girl, his swimming buddy, Jennifer. I finally place her last name—she lived down the street from me when we were a lot younger. "Jennifer _Miller_? What…"

"Spence wanted to talk to you," Jennifer said. I know puzzlement crossed my face, through inwardly I frowned. So he did have someone to call him 'Spence'… I was almost disappointed in this discovery. I turn my attention to the younger boy.

"Are you alright, Spencer?" I asked. He nodded. I raised an eyebrow.

"I wanted to thank you," he said softly, eyes still trained on the floor, digging the toe of his loafer into the thick carpet. "You didn't have to do that for me, Jennifer would have been able to get out alright, and you wouldn't experience any social repercussions."

My heart broke. I knelt down in front up him, lifting his chin.

"Spence, look," I began, suddenly at a loss for words. "What Duke did was despicable. They've all been horrible to you. And I've been even worse…"

"But you've helped me," Spencer pointed out.

"Yeah, but not all the time," I protested. I sighed, hanging my own head. "I've been selfish, thinking only about my status. It's lost me friends before," I said, glancing towards Jennifer. She snorted and rolled her eyes.

"It's only natural preservation instinct. You went against it a few times, for me. And I wanted to thank you for that." Spencer nodded, backing up a step.

I wanted to cry. He was thanking me for only protecting him, even if it was part-time! I sat back on the carpet, taking in a shuddering breath. "You're welcome," I finally whispered. I paused a moment, then cleared my throat. "Do you guys… want to stay for dinner? Tonight's pizza and movie night," I offered. Jennifer and Spencer exchanged glances.

"Sure, I'd like that," Jennifer said, nudging Spencer.

"Only if it's not too much trouble," Spencer answered. I finally grinned.

"Don't worry, we always order more than we can eat anyway. Come on, I bet mom hasn't called yet, what do you want on your pizza? It's Justin's turn to pick the movie, though," I said, leading them to the kitchen.

Despite my cheerful exterior, my mind still spun with confusion and fear. What was going to happen come Monday?


End file.
